


Make Some Noise

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Glove Kink, Noise Kink, One Night Stands, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A raucous comment in Irish leads Sparrow to having a one-night stand with Arthur Maxson himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Some Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for mentions of death (including that of a minor), violence, drug use, alcohol use, and fantastic racism. AU Sparrow/Arthur smut.

_“Ba mhaith liom go bhfuil cóta.”_

_“Scriú an cóta, ba mhaith liom cad atá ann!”_

Arthur Maxson stopped and turned around as he heard the laughing discussion in what sounded like Irish. The Capital Wasteland had its fair share of the clans, reputedly descended from criminals and moonshiners, but the Commonwealth was positively littered with their symbols, snatches of their language and traditions. This visit to Bunker Hill, one of a few to promote good relations between the Brotherhood of Steel and the local settlements, had exposed him to the people in a way that didn’t happen back home. Here, no one cared that he was the Elder of the Eastern Brotherhood of Steel, leading the force that would save them from the technological scourge of the Institute. He was still deciding what to make of it.

            The Wastelander who was currently serving as his guide – a sniper who knew the Lone Wanderer as Arthur had – began to chuckle quietly. “Easy, Max,” MacCready murmured for the Elder’s ears alone. “The redhead’s complimenting your coat and the brunette fancies you.”

            Arthur relaxed a little. There hadn’t been any malice in the laughter after all.

            “MacCready, who’s yer friend?” called out said redhead, her speech thick with the clans’ lilting accent. Freckle-faced and deceptively youthful, the insides of her arms bore faded needle tracks but the leather-encased body was athletically muscular while rawhide was wrapped brawler-style around her fists. Arthur knew that she could probably take on any of the Knights under his command in a fistfight and win.

            “Cait, no!” The brunette, who was more chestnut-haired, buried her face in her hands. Bold enough to make a comment in Irish but not proposition him; her accent was more refined, what the locals would call Upper Standish. Her colouring was less vivid than her companion’s – yet both of them had the same slender builds and fine-boned features. Cousins, if not siblings.

            “This is Max. Max, the ladies are Cait and Sparrow Killian,” MacCready introduced with a grin on his sharp skinny face. “Cousins, but not the kissing kind, I fear.”

            “Only because Sparrow prefers men. Big burly soldier-boys in nice coats.” Cait’s grin was wicked as she elbowed her kinswoman. “Come on, Sparrow, give him a smile.”

            Sparrow reluctantly lowered her hands to show a blush blooming across high cheekbones. Arthur could see a patch of vitiligo around her left eye and some ragged diagonal scars on the same cheek that ran across well-formed pinkish-red lips. “Tá brón orm,” she said.

            He knew a little Irish – common greetings, farewells and even a few choice oaths – but not that phrase. “What does that mean?”

            “’I’m sorry’,” MacCready translated.

            Sparrow nodded in confirmation, looking terribly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Elder Maxson.”

            So she knew who he was. Arthur was… disappointed. It was a rare thing for him to be regarded with sexual interest. Most of the Brotherhood women (and a few men) who approached him were either doing it for duty or chasing his family name.

            “Oh, for God’s sake,” Cait said disgustedly. “Poor bastard’s so uptight he could use a good-“

            “Cait.” Sparrow’s tone shifted from mortified to warning. “That’s. The Leader. Of the. Brotherhood. You know, the group you’re thinking of joining?”

            The Irishwoman turned glass-green eyes in his direction. “Do I get a coat like that if I join up?”

            Arthur grabbed his battlecoat possessively. “It’s a one-off thing.”

            Cait sighed, waving her hand. “Go on, spoil me hopes and dreams, why don’t you?”

            MacCready snickered. “Cait, that jacket would weigh you down when you fight.”

            “But I’d look good in it.”

            Arthur looked heavenwards, silently asking the Creator for patience. “I’m sure there are plenty of other coats in the Commonwealth that will look just as good.”

            “Go steal Hancock’s,” MacCready suggested with a grin.

            “Nah, I stay away from Goodneighbour now I’m free of the chems,” Cait said.

            Sparrow, meanwhile, was biting her bottom lip and giving Arthur apologetic looks. She was the pastel shadow to her cousin’s vivid glare yet he could tell there was as much steel in her doe-brown gaze as there was in Cait’s glass-green.

            He looked at her, as a man did a woman, and approved of the soft curves beneath the floral-printed cream cotton dress.

            She looked at him, as a woman did a man, and approved of the hard muscle beneath his leather coat and officer’s uniform.

            While Cait and MacCready bickered, she rose to her feet and he followed her through the crowd to a place where they could be alone.

…

It was a little storage shed tucked between the inn and the outer wall of Bunker Hill, left unlocked because trading season was over and so there was nothing worth stealing. Sparrow owned it though, free and clear, as the first building in her burgeoning trade empire.

            During the winter, it would be her home. But that wasn’t for Arthur Maxson to know.

            Arthur took in the two beds – one Sparrow’s and the other Cait’s – and the shelves that held nothing but dust. She ignored him to hang the chain across the blue-painted door that would tell Cait she was… busy. Judging by the gleam in her eye though, she’d be busy with the sniper at the inn.

            “It won’t keep anyone out but it will stop someone from just bursting in,” Sparrow assured him, suddenly nervous. This was her first one-night stand in… oh… two hundred and thirteen years.

            “How do you know MacCready?” he rasped, something darkening his vivid blue eyes.

            “He runs security on my scavenging runs and has a bit of a thing with Cait,” she replied.

            “You scavenge?” A thick eyebrow rose.

            “I specialise in low-volume, high-quality merchandise like screws, gears, circuitry, medical supplies…” Sparrow looked down at the concrete floor, hearing the slight scepticism in his voice. “I’m tougher than I look.”

            The Elder hummed in the back of his throat. “The Brotherhood would pay good caps for those supplies. We use them extensively.”

            Sparrow smiled sweetly at him. “Good to know. But I thought this was pleasure, not business.”

            Now it was his turn to bite a full bottom lip. The grey-black uniform clung to a body that wasn’t the sculpted ideal of pre-War bodybuilders but instead barrel-chested and healthy, thick arms and thighs from the conditioning required to manhandle a suit of power armour. The coat that Cait admired emphasised his broad shoulders while the wicked scar that arced across his right cheek from strong nose to square jaw belied the softness of his beard-framed lips.

            Despite the lines of stress and battle on his features, Sparrow realised he was young, perhaps younger than her. Perhaps young enough to have never-

            His blue eyes flared like the flame of a Bunsen burner. “Which bed is yours?” he rasped.

            Sparrow pointed to the right, a twin mattress on a steel frame covered with a clumsily made patchwork quilt.

            “I should have figured,” he observed as he stepped closer.

            His mouth lowered to hers tentatively. Sparrow lifted a hand to the side of his head, feeling the close-cropped ash-brown hair and coarse beard, and returned the kiss sweetly, gently. When his tongue poked at the line of her lips, she opened them, and found herself crushed against a powerful body.

            She let her hands roam across the polyester and leather of his uniform, exalting in the shuddering of his mighty frame. Arthur’s hands found her hips and then slid around to cup her ass, squeezing gently. “I won’t break,” she assured him in between kisses.

            The soldier hummed again, this time thoughtfully. Then he picked her up and put her on the bed easily.

            His coat was shucked from his shoulders to fall heavily to the concrete floor. Sparrow arranged herself on the bed, lying down, as he stalked over to her. The power and grace in his movements aroused her; as Cait had pointed out, she had a thing for burly soldier-boys and had since college.

            “Like soldiers, do you?” he rasped darkly.

            “I do, though it’s been a while,” she confessed. “I lost my husband and child a year ago and I…”

            Why was she telling him this? Why was he asking these things?

            “Your husband was a soldier?”

            “Yes.” Something in his eyes drove her to add, “But you look nothing like him.”

            Arthur sighed heavily. “Good. _Good_ …”

            And then he was leaning over her, mouthing hungrily at the side of her neck even as his gloved hand slipped through the opening of her dress – popping a few buttons – to palm her breast with more enthusiasm than finesse.

            It still felt good. The roughness of his hands, leather and callus, drew a moan from her as he thumbed her nipple into stiffness. His lips were harsher, teeth scraping the skin, and she arched up. Not a virgin, though not a skilled lover either, but he was exactly what she needed.

            “Bold enough to call out in Irish yet not enough to proposition me directly,” he said against her collarbone, other hand going to her free breast as the front of her dress fell open. Thank the Lord she wasn’t wearing a bra.

            “I – ah!” She tried to find words to reply but his mouth moved lower, tongue laving a nipple. “I hadn’t mean to be heard.”

            “Obviously.” Arthur chuckled, planting a kiss between her breasts. She reached up to grab the ring-pull of his uniform and pull it down, revealing an impressive expanse of hairy chest.

            Now it was her turn to kiss him, tasting the planes of his torso – clean sweat and something musky – as he thrust against her belly. She peeled off the top half of that uniform, reminding herself to find the missing buttons of her dress later. His ash-brown undercut fell into one blue eye boyishly, though there was nothing young about that gaze.

            He tugged his arms free of his uniform, the thick biceps everything she’d imagined as they curled briefly. “I don’t pick up random women, however beautiful,” he observed. “And I won’t give Cait any special consideration if she wants to join up.”

            Sparrow smiled at him. “I’m flattered. And she’d be offended if you did.”

            His palm slid over her birth-wrinkled stomach after she pulled her own arms out of the dress. Interestingly, he still wore the half-gloves, and the rich scent of leather added something to the experience.

            “Leave the gloves on,” she suggested huskily.

            “It’s usually ‘leave the jacket on’,” Arthur chuckled.

            “No, that would be Cait asking you that.”

            His fingers slid under her dingy white cotton panties and Sparrow gasped when they accidentally hit her clit. “Mo Dhia…”

            Arthur’s eyes flared again and with a flex of that powerful hand, her panties tore. Then he rucked up her skirt, removed the ragged remains, and began to finger her.

…

The way she called on the Creator in Irish sent blood surging to Arthur’s cock. As much as he wanted to bury himself in the tight cunt that contracted around his fingers, however, he owed it to Sparrow to give her an orgasm so taking him would be easier.

            It was good not to be compared to someone else, not to look like them, to be the first after a long drought. Her preference for his gloves was refreshing, the feel of her soft flesh beneath the leather arousing.

            Sparrow didn’t have the muscle her cousin had but there was a hint of it under the mother-soft belly and breasts. Arthur briefly wondered what her husband thought of the changes to a woman’s body during pregnancy and then dismissed it from his mind. The man and child were long gone, though a hint of grief still remained in her voice. Today was about him and her.

            Her cunt was pink and dusted with auburn hair, slick with arousal that she voiced in soft little moans. Despite the complete lack of physical resemblance, she reminded him of Danse with her quiet reserve interspersed with moments of vivid personality. Though Arthur could do without thinking of the soldier right now.

            He shoved another finger into her channel, drawing a louder moan, and resolved to make her scream. Gossip would fly anyway – let him make it good.

            Arthur settled her thighs on his shoulders and proceeded to lick her from ass to clit, her taste salty musk, as he fingered her. Sparrow grew louder, moans broken up by his name and Irish words that sounded beautiful, but when he felt the surge of her climax in slick fluttering inner walls, she stifled her scream with both hands.

            “Oh no,” he whispered as he licked his lips. “You will _not_ be quiet, my little Irish sparrow.”

            Arthur lowered her legs and she crawled back up the bed, brown eyes flashing. The passion that the Irish had was there, quiescent under a well-bred exterior, and his lips curved to see it. “I’ll be quiet or not as I please,” she retorted.

            He unbuckled the rest of his uniform and shoved it down to his knees with his underpants, giving his erection some relief. Sparrow’s smile was pleased at the sight and to tease her, he palmed himself, bucking a little into the sheath of his hand.

            “I don’t regret the embarrassment now,” she said huskily. “Though thanks to you, I’ll need to find my buttons and buy a new pair of knickers.”

            “I’m sorry,” Arthur said with a flush. “I’ll… help. Somehow.”

            “Give me caps and I’ll slap your face.”

            He grinned. She shared Cait’s tart tongue, it appeared.

            Then Arthur climbed onto the bed and kissed Sparrow before lifting her up. She was so light it was almost ridiculous.

            The feel of her cunt around his cock nearly made him come. Only years of discipline saved Arthur from embarrassing himself. It had been long – too long – since he’d been with a woman.

            Sparrow’s lips parted and a soft pleased sigh escaped. “Fuck,” she breathed. “Is the Prydwen a scale model of it?”

            Arthur shouldn’t be that pleased at the comparison. “Not precisely,” he rasped, giving shallow little thrusts of his hips that made her breasts jiggle. “I didn’t want to make the other Elders feel inadequate.”

            Sparrow’s delighted laugh was the loudest noise he’d heard her make all night. Which reminded Arthur of his vow to make her scream.

            So he slid his hand between them and toyed with her clit until she rolled her hips. Judging by the glint in her eyes she knew exactly what he was about, so she bit her lip in defiance.

            “Do you know what Brotherhood soldiers say in battle?” he asked conversationally.

            “What?” Her eyes narrowed.

            “’Ad Victoriam’. It means-“

            “To victory,” she finished. “I know. I have some knowledge of Latin.”

            Arthur’s eyebrow rose. She knew Latin? Just who _was_ Sparrow Killian anyways?

            “Then know this,” he told her as he increased the urgency of his thrusts. “I always win.”

            “I’ll make you come before I scream,” she challenged, tightening her inner walls around his cock.

            “Challenge accepted.”

…

Having Arthur Maxson’s fingers toying with her clit meant that she was free to play with his nipples, drawing a hoarse growl from the Elder’s throat. He caught her hands with his free one, the large fingers trapping her wrists together. “No cheating,” he rasped.

            “Bastard,” she told him fervently, earning a laugh. Somehow she got the feeling he didn’t laugh a lot, which was a great pity.

            “Why are you quiet?” Arthur asked as they fucked. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

            “I just prefer it,” Sparrow retorted, cheeks reddening.

            He leaned over to nuzzle at the side of her neck. “What about my masculine pride?”

            She gave him a glare. “Arthur, if you giving me pleasure is more about your pride than anything else, get the fuck out of my shed now.”

            The Elder stopped, cock pulsing deep inside her. “I… didn’t mean…”

            He looked so young that she wondered just how old he’d been when he first saw combat. Old in soul and responsibility, young in years and experience.

            “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I wanted to see you enjoy yourself. And maybe a little bit of if they were going to gossip, we might as well make it good.”

            Not perfect reasons but not entirely selfish ones either. Sparrow tugged her wrists free of his hands and brought that too-weary face to hers for a kiss.

            “Many of the soldiers I slept with when I was younger were facing terrible odds and for the most part, they just wanted to forget for a while. I was just a warm body to them,” she told him after the mild kiss. “They gave me pleasure but it was for their own reasons. As for me, I let it happen because it was a way to hide from the atrocities of the time.”

            “I don’t understand…”

            “I was cryogenically frozen in a Vault up north,” Sparrow explained sadly, resting her forehead against Arthur’s. “Around here, they call me the Woman Out of Time. Cait’s my cousin about twelve generations removed.”

            His eyes widened… and then narrowed. “Your family-“

            “The Vault failed a year ago. For whatever reason, I was the only survivor.” Sparrow blinked back tears, remembering Shaun’s body cracking apart in her hands. “I came south because the north was too painful.”

            “My parents died when I was young,” he said softly. “I know what it’s like to be a sole survivor too.”

            Sparrow kissed that Roman nose. “You’re the first man I’ve met in a long time that reminds me that I’m alive. Thank you.”

            “You’re the first woman in a while who finds me attractive for myself, not my name,” he replied. “Make whatever noise you wish. Just… come for me.”

            And then his hips moved once more, fingers rolling her clit _just so_ and Sparrow found herself crying out as the orgasm suddenly took her. And for him, she found a scream.

            A few thrusts and Arthur spilt into her with a hoarse cry. Then, after he recovered, he lay her down and began all over again.

            There was something to be said for the stamina of young soldiers after all.

            When they parted, it was for the first and last time. And eighteen years later, a pair of twins with piercing blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair went south to chase the father they knew of only in Commonwealth legend…


End file.
